He was smiling and laughing... but why?
We were grubbing in the earth for the roots of plants. The Sun was warm as hot winds blew across the sandy desert plain. Our dark skinned fingers prised the roots out of the holes we had dug, with long thin sticks. I looked up from my work and I saw his face .. He was smiling and laughing... but why?
I died that year due to drought. Hundreds of years later the same area would be covered in floods. I would have been happy for the rain, because I knew how to navigate the heavy floods. But we could not deal with severe drought. We could not survive without water. Most of us died that year.
No one remembers us. The few who survived gave birth to generations of depressed alcoholics. Aboriginal people who lived on small reservations with no contact to their ancestors - their sky ancestors. Contact with the sky people was 'verboten', by royal decree .. so my families were forgotten.
In the eyes of my creator .. he was smiling and laughing... but why?
Today, I sit in my water rich community.
I sit at an electronic computer drawing its power from fire (energy).
But, as I sit here .. it is the same face smiling back at me.
In the eyes of my creator - he looks and he smiles as though there was never a drought and as though the recent rains had never fallen, flooding the plains. He is as young today as he was when I was born ten thousand years ago.
I wonder what the relationship is to the hands digging deep for roots and the hands drawing pictures in the caverns of the mind on computer keys? His gaze never wavers. His eyes do not lose their perspective. He seems not to have changed in all these centuries. He seems unaffected by rain, flood, drought or storm.
So, why do I remember? Why do I carry my dreams?
In the eyes of my creator. He was smiling and laughing... but why?
Perhaps this was the wrong question?
We were grubbing in the earth for the roots of plants. The Sun was warm as hot winds blew across the sandy desert plain. Our dark skinned fingers prised the roots out of the holes we had dug, with long thin sticks. I looked up from my work and I saw his face .. He was smiling and laughing... but why?
I died that year due to drought. Hundreds of years later the same area would be covered in floods. I would have been happy for the rain, because I knew how to navigate the heavy floods. But we could not deal with severe drought. We could not survive without water. Most of us died that year.
No one remembers us. The few who survived gave birth to generations of depressed alcoholics. Aboriginal people who lived on small reservations with no contact to their ancestors - their sky ancestors. Contact with the sky people was 'verboten', by royal decree .. so my families were forgotten.
In the eyes of my creator .. he was smiling and laughing... but why?
Today, I sit in my water rich community.
I sit at an electronic computer drawing its power from fire (energy).
But, as I sit here .. it is the same face smiling back at me.
In the eyes of my creator - he looks and he smiles as though there was never a drought and as though the recent rains had never fallen, flooding the plains. He is as young today as he was when I was born ten thousand years ago.
I wonder what the relationship is to the hands digging deep for roots and the hands drawing pictures in the caverns of the mind on computer keys? His gaze never wavers. His eyes do not lose their perspective. He seems not to have changed in all these centuries. He seems unaffected by rain, flood, drought or storm.
So, why do I remember? Why do I carry my dreams?
In the eyes of my creator. He was smiling and laughing... but why?
Perhaps this was the wrong question?
